Darkness Around the Sun
by Llama Lady Lily
Summary: In the darkness around the sun, there's light behind your eyes... Corrine is at Hogwarts, and she's only got Seamus. There's a war going on, and for some reason, she's a target. For some reason, they want her. The thing is, Corinne's a Muggle...
1. Chapter 1

One last broken heart

_**Don't be stupid, it all belongs to Jo. Le DUH**_

_**But this story is… well it's gunna get heavy.**_

I knew him since grade school. I remember in second grade he'd climb over the fence every day, and we'd climb the tree and talk about nothing at all.

I'd tell the girls at school, and they'd squeak and be all atwitter over it. Boys were, as I was reminded countless times by the girls, _Icky._

When he told me about his magic, I just smiled a knowing smile and hugged him: at eleven we'd grown up.

I always knew he was special.

He said he'd go away to magic school and would be away for the school year. Bottom line: my best friend, the boy-next-door would not be clambering over my fence anymore.

It was then I realized I was in love with Seamus Finnegan.

He came home over the holidays, of course. But it wasn't the same.

He'd do magic, and bring moving photos, tell me stories about extraordinary spells and enchantments, heroes, villains, teachers, students, friends, family, animals, and magic.

I was fascinated by it all, even though I really had no idea what he was talking about.

Of course, in turn, he listened to my stories about Private Girls School my mother had sent me to in England after my father got a promotion and we moved just outside of London. I missed Ireland more than he did, but I liked being in closer proximity than I had been when I lived at home. We kept our house in Ireland, and went back there for holidays.

We traded letters as discreetly as possible – I'd go to the edge of the grounds during lunch breaks (my mother was deathly afraid of birds, and at least in the trees, owls were common). We'd write pages and pages per week. Sometimes he'd tell me about his Transfiguration class, sometimes I'd tell him about home economics class. Sometimes we'd just trade gossip and memories, and sometimes we'd make plans for the holidays. He was the best thing for a teenaged girl in an all girls private school. Not a boyfriend (though sometimes I couldn't help but dream), but a guy friend.

It was a long weekend in November, and we had returned to Ireland for a week for my grandmother's birthday and my parent's anniversary. I was to turn eighteen that December. I was home alone after my parents had gone out to dinner. They tried to get me to accompany them, but I'd much rather stay home than watch my parents dance all evening. There was an alarmed knock at the door. I hurried to answer it. Who should I find, standing on the doorstep, covered in bruises, both old and new, but my next door neighbor.

"Seamus!" I cried, throwing my arms around his neck.

"Corrine!" he replied, returning my embrace with just as much fervor.

"It's so good to see you! What are you doing home?" I asked, tears welling in my eyes. It was so wonderful to see him again.

"Corrine, you have to get out," he told me. "They'll be here. The Death Eaters. I told you about them, do you remember? They know I told you about my magic. They'll be here, and they'll want to kill you."

I was thrown. Death Eaters? The Gothic creatures that swept the land, killing anyone who crossed their paths, torturing for fun, and worshipping a man who had cheated death – a man who killed people so he might rise to an ultimate power, using his evil reign over his subjects, and who demanded supreme control of the world, with a ratio of one to one: dead to enslaved.

"Don't soften your words on me, old friend," I whispered.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault," he replied, also whispering, not meeting my eyes.

I lifted his chin to find that his eyes, too, were swimming. I shook my head. "I wanted to know, I pressed for information," I whispered. "It's as much my fault."

"We must get you out of here," he told me.

"What of my parents?"

"Arrangements are being arranged, but you must come with me to Hogwarts," he commanded.

"What of my parents, Seamus?" I asked again.

"There is someone going to inform them, and they will be moved. Once it is clear you've left, your parents will be safe, as they don't have your distinct DNA. Don't ask - it's a personal thing, not a hereditary thing."

"Seamus, this is my life. I can't just uproot and leave!" I protested.

"You must, or you'll be killed," he told me gravely. I nodded my eventual agreement and showed him inside so I could go upstairs and pack the few things I would need.

Gradually, over the course of six weeks or so, we made our way across the country side from Ireland to London, sleeping in stingy motels or on the side of the road: no one could know who we were. Not even 'Muggles', I think he called us. Non magic folk.

For all that we ate terrible food, slept in terrible rooms, traveled in terrible conditions and I developed a terrible cough (which was cured by some of Seamus' magic), we had a great time. Letters can only convey so much.

He told me even more about Hogwarts, about his friends and things I would need to know once we arrived. We came up with cover stories and secret questions and answers to ask one another, and calls incase we were to come across the zombie like creatures that were essentially controlled by the government, or the government enforcement agents – and Death Eaters.

I told him about my parents, and he listened to my stories with soothing words. My family might not survive because of me. He understood.

Fugitives from the law, ill, cold, dirty and smelly, I was so at home. Seamus was there. We shared the large blanket we'd salvaged from the ruins of a house, and slept close together for the warmth and body heat.

Sometimes he'd move about in his sleep, thrashing, and muttering largely incoherent things, often involving 'Carrows' or 'Dean' or 'Harry'. His thrashing was worse when he was whispering my name, and more often than not, after his night terrors, he'd wake up with a splitting headache. The best I could do was attempt to sooth him. Occasionally I would sing lullabies his mother had sung to us as children – I knew them so well, I threw the Irish accent for him. I held his hand and moved closer as I sang, and this eased the thrashing and muttering for a time. But in an hours time, he would be thrashing again. It happened about once a fortnight. Three or four in each night, then the next two weeks would be perfectly peaceful sleep.

I did not have such nightmares.

Mine consisted of the horror stories that he had told me – why we had to be so careful. My nightmares came nightly, but nothing of my terrifying sleep was conveyed, so I'm told.

As the time went on, though, and Seamus and I slept closer and closer together, they eased, also. The first night I slept in his arms, and he kissed my forehead goodnight, I dreamt of a large, grand castle, with brightly lit halls and huge stairways. I relayed this dream to Seamus, and he smiled, revealing that I was dreaming of Hogwarts.

Upon arrival, I recognised the castle before Seamus. However decrepit it seemed now – vines hanging off walls, some windows smashed through, and two large boulders at the entrance to what Seamus told me was the Quidditch Pitch, I recognised the castle from my dream.

We could linger at the castle for only a short time, though, and Seamus and I hurried down to Hogsmeade. It was still daylight – maybe four o clock? My watch had stopped working the night we had spent in the snow.

But it was safe to enter the small settlement – disguised, of course. Seamus was on the list of forbidden individuals to have within the confines of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade after his latest prank which had lead him to the Room of Requirement.

Aberforth was so wonderful to us. He smiled as we entered his pub, and insisted on buying us a drink. After an amazing tankard of the amazing substance butterbeer, we made our way into Hogwarts, to the Room of Requirement.

The Room was incredible. There were about sixty portraits in the room, and from Seamus's description of the magical properties of the school, I knew them to be doors to other rooms. Each had a label over the top of it, and I searched the room for a portrait of a tall, lanky man who held a small Jack Russell Terrier – Seamus's room. There was a portrait much larger than the others – this one was even more magical than the rest. Seamus had explained it to me – each person who died for the cause – from the Order of the Phoenix, from their own little gathering, and those who had died for their families – an image of them appeared in the portrait. Corrine knew she would have to examine it better in the future.

In the centre of the large room, there was a long table with about fifty seats. At what was clearly the head of the table, there were plans of what could only be Hogwarts or Gringotts, and along the table, there were more photos, plans and random pieces of paper.

In the room itself, there were plenty of soft, comfortable couches. Over to the right, there was a games area, and everywhere, there were students milling around us.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone was ecstatic to see Seamus again, and we were besieged by a group of young men and women, wanting to clasp his hand, trade stories and start plotting

Everyone was ecstatic to see Seamus again, and we were besieged by a group of young men and women, wanting to clasp his hand, trade stories and start plotting.

"So, Seamus, this is the beautiful young lady you've been telling us about," the boy I recognised as Neville said as spotted me standing at the back of the room, watching Seamus interact with his old friends. It was a great site. I blushed at the compliment from the man who I took to be the leader of the group. Seamus, however, choked at the man's words.

"I'm Corrine," I said, holding out my hand for him to shake.

"Corrine Isabella Mathers," he finished, shaking my hand, grinning. "I know exactly who you are."

"Thanks, Neville," Seamus said sarcastically, regaining control of his speech.

"Perhaps you two had better go take a shower. That looks like a nasty cut, Corinne, I'll take a look at it for you," he noticed, sniffing Seamus and spying the large gash I had sustained four days ago on my upper left arm.

"Thanks," Seamus said, perfectly sincere this time.

"Go on, kid, you go shower. I'll get my first aid kit," Neville said, turning about and walking to the cabinet that no doubt held the first aid kit.

"You go first, Corrie," Seamus offered quietly.

"No need for chivalry here, Finnegan. You smell worse than I do anyway!" I insisted.

"Yeah, but I know you've been hankering for a shower for weeks. You take first," he said, taking my hand to squeeze quickly. I smiled at the gesture.

"Shower's through here," a girl said, leading me to a bathroom. "My name's Catalina," she introduced herself.

"Corinne," I replied.

"Seamus missed you," she told me. "He missed you a lot. He talked about you all the time, and then one of the Carrow's found out about you, so he took an awful risk to get to you before they did. I imagine he got there scant hours before they did. It was awful."

She saw me visibly pale.

"Oh nothing to worry about. They wouldn't have done anything to raise suspicion. Neville went and intercepted your parents before they could be met by them, and they're in a safe house in France, I believe."

"Thank you," I whispered. She blushed.

"Now, now, you'd best get cleaned up. I'm sure your belongings are all filthy. Six weeks! Heavens! Luna and I will wash all of them, and the shower and everything should be fine. If you need anything, just think hard about exactly what it is, and the Room will grant it."

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Seriously," she amended, amused. "I know. It's awesome. There'll even be a clean towel and some clothes in there, I bet."

She opened the bathroom door, and we were met by a small, cramped space with a basin and a toilet, and a small bathtub. I grinned anyway. Catalina frowned.

"Don't be cheeky," she said. I turned, shocked. What had I done? But she was looking at the ceiling. Was she… scolding the room? "She's new. Give her a proper bathroom, please."

The room seemed to fold, and then unfurled before our eyes, and a grand bathroom was revealed. A huge bathtub the size of a swimming pool was in the centre of the room. A shower that was easily ten feet high was in the corner, though, and that was the first thing I saw. My jaw nearly dropped.

"This is incredible."

"Enjoy," she said, pushing me in, then looked at the ceiling and folded her arms, crossed. "Do as she says."

I walked to the shower dimly and began to strip. I turned on the water and smiled as the heat immediately filled the room. I stepped into the shower and sighed under the hot water.

I began to scrub my body and my hair. I groaned at the dirty water that was disappearing down the drain. How could I possibly be that filthy? What had we done? Surely sleeping where we had slept hadn't caused this?

Oh, who was I kidding, when you sleep on the side of the road for six weeks, you turn this colour. I had thought I was getting a tan. I watched sadly as my bronzing skin turned fair again.

Some shower gel appeared on the shower shelf, which I gratefully used. "Thank you," I said cautiously to the room, not knowing the proper protocol for a room that showed compassion and humor.

"You're welcome," I heard a voice say. I might have jumped out of my skin if I hadn't known that voice as well as I knew my own.

"Seamus!" I said, very aware that I was standing naked under the jets of hot water, and Seamus was just some opaque glass away from that.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know I shouldn't be here, and I'll leave when you get out, but it makes me… anxious to be away from you now."

I smiled, feeling the same way. Very carefully, I opened the glass door about two inches, and stuck my left hand out. I felt him take it, and I squeezed.

"I'm still here," I told him.

"Good," he told me.

"Seamus, would you get me a towel please? I think I'm ready to get out," I said quietly.

"Oh, I'll just go, then" he whispered.

"No!" I insisted. "Stay, please. Just pass a towel in here. I want you to stay with me."

I heard him walk a few steps, then a soft cotton towel appeared at the door. I opened it a few more inches, careful to stand behind the glass where I could not be seen, and took the towel with a thanks. With a blush I was glad Seamus couldn't see, I noticed that this shower would accommodate two people, though possibly it would be better if they stood quite close together most of the time.

Drying carefully with the soft white material, I fastened it around my body securely, and opened the shower door.

"Your turn," I said, exiting the upsized shower. I noticed that he, too, wore only a towel. In the few hotels we stayed at, we'd only risked the showers in three. We'd established that the easiest way for the second person to have a hot shower was to go directly after one another, while the water in the taps was still hot. He quickly dived in to the shower and closed the door all but about four inches. He dropped his towel through the crack in the door and turned the water on, closing the door. I sighed and hung the soft cotton towel on the towel rack by the door.

I noticed the stack of clothing on the bench – one for me, and a second stack for him appeared as I watched. I carefully dressed and was beginning to brush my hair.

"Corrine?" he asked.

"Yeah?" I said, brushing the knots out.

"The water's still dirty," he sounded embarrassed.

"We haven't had a shower in about three months, Seamus. What did you expect?"

"Right. Good point. Corrine?"

"Yeah?" I said, wrestling with one particularly stubborn knot.

"You okay?" his tone changed.

"My hair is being crazy. What did you want?"

"Oh, I was just going to say 'don't leave'," he said.

"Trust me, I won't," I said, frowning at my hair. "My hair refuses to comply."

"We haven't had a shower in three months, Corrine, what did you expect?" he mocked me.

"Don't use my words against me!"

Then, a bottle of detangler appeared on the counter. I laughed at Seamus.

"What?"

"Detangler!" I grinned, spraying a generous amount all over my disobedient hair, leaving it to settle for sixty seconds like it said to on the bottle.

"Oh, right, side with _her_," Seamus said, obviously talking to the room. "Alright, I'm getting out now."

"Your towel's on the rack. I won't look, I promise."

I closed my eyes and sat on the ground of the bathroom.

"I wouldn't mind," I heard him say. For a while, I heard him potter around the bathroom, obviously drying off and dressing and what not. "Alright, I'm decent," he said, I opened my eyes and stood, picking up the brush again. He came over to stand behind me and placed his large hands over my slender piano hands, and gently took the brush from my hands, snaking his left hand around my waist.

"Allow me," he whispered, and carefully brushed through the knots of my hair. I smiled. I might have leant against him if he were doing any other activity than brushing my thick black locks.

"I love your hair," he murmured in my ear. "So soft." He put the brush back on the counter and rubbed his right hand over my now smooth hair. I did lean against him now, and put my hands on his left hand, which remained around my waist. My eyes fluttered closed as I felt his face in my hair.

"You smell like freesias," he whispered.

"You smell clean, now," I replied. "It's so much better than when you smelled like old pizza."

"We'd better…" he whispered, almost in a gasp.

"Yeah, I replied, cringing at the thought of what they might say when we returned outside.

"You okay?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"The others…" I muttered.

"I wouldn't worry about the others if I were you," he assured me. "Come on. Uncle Neville can clean that nasty cut for you."

Exiting the steamy bathroom, we were met by another flurry of voices and faces.

"Did you see anyone?"

"What was it like?"

"Why do you look like that?"

"Are you together?"

"What happened?

"Guys!" the stronger voice announced his presence. It was clear that Neville was indeed taking the lead within the small community of renegades.

"Sorry," someone mumbled.

"Corrine? Seamus? Come on over here. We'll look at that cut and… have a chat," Neville said. The crowd, obviously knowing what that meant, dispersed quickly.

We went to the source of Neville's voice. Indeed, he was sitting at the head of the large table, examining some documents that lay before him. He waved me over and began examining my arm as I sat on the desk. Seamus stood loyally by my side.

"So," Neville said, not taking his eyes off my arm. "Seamus, I take it you followed the rules?"

"Rules?" I asked, looking at Seamus expectantly.

"Stringently. It took me six weeks to get her back here without anyone figuring her out."

"Good," Neville said, frowning at my arm, dabbing a green substance on it carefully.

"Rules?" I asked again.

"Sleeping on the sidewalks, not being recognised, all that jazz," Seamus said, brushing it off.

Then something clicked inside my head.

Or, rather, it didn't.

"Hang on," I said, staring at Neville intently. He still kept his eyes on the gash. "You're here. Catalina said…"

Neville looked up expectantly. "Catalina said you went to intercept my parents. She said _you_ took them to France. That's even further away than Ireland, yet you got back before us. A lot before us. You've been back for ages, I can tell. Why?"

"I couldn't leave these guys!"

"Yeah, but it took us six weeks to get here from Ireland. It must have taken you far longer to get back from Ireland if you followed the rules!"

"I have a very different set of rules," he said as though it were obvious.

"Why?"

"Because my magic is far less distinguishable," he said.

"What?" I asked, then turned to Seamus. "Your magic is different to his?"

Neville laughed. He actually laughed. A real, true chortle of a laugh.

"Seamus? Dear god, girl, Seamus and I share thoughts. Our magic is almost identical. I was talking about the incredibly dangerous, ambient magic that resides in _your_ power!"


End file.
